


A Small War

by FaramirsBlessing



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: Appendicitis, Blankets, Cuddles, Doctors, Everyone is sweet and supportive, Everyone takes turns watching the gay beans, Fight me about how good a dad Yukimi is, Gen, He loves Yoite a lot, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Just friendship and love, LITERALLY, Miharu is a sweetheart, No one hates each other, Serious Illness, Surgery, Yoite has a big family, Yoite is sick, Yukimi is a dad, as always
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:34:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaramirsBlessing/pseuds/FaramirsBlessing
Summary: Yoite is very, very sick and Miharu is very, very scared. Luckily they have lots of people there to take care of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!!! I LOVE this manga and anime so much - it's one of my favorite manga of all time and I can't get enough. I think about it literally all the time and so I just had to write fan fiction. I'm such a sucker for hurt/comfort fan fiction (as you can see if you read any of my others fics) and Yoite is always hurting and so he deserves a little comfort. I'm a nursing student so I'm gonna try to be as accurate as possible, but please don't think my writing is any sort of professional advice! 
> 
> Any who, hello to this wonderful, tiny fandom and enjoy this story!

Yoite's hair fell like black curtains around his pale face. It cast shadows into his hollow cheekbones, accentuating how frail he already was. It was beautiful, black, and caught the moon like onyx. Miharu wondered what it felt like - was it soft or rough? Was it silky or greasy?

Yoite shied away from physical touch so Miharu doubted that Yoite would ever let him close enough to touch his hair.

And that was okay with Miharu. He didn't know everything about Yoite's past — he doubted that Yoite would ever fully tell — and he didn't want to pry.

But there were times when all Miharu wanted to do was grab Yoite, pull him close, and run his fingers through his hair.

This was one of those times.

Miharu and Yoite were in Yukimi’s apartment, sitting in front of the television, some mindless reality show flashing rapidly across the screen. Neither of the boys were interested. It served as only a temporary distraction from the disaster they had found themselves in.

"Ohhhh no, the correct answer was Bilbo Baggins!" the host announced, garnering Miharu’s attention. Bilbo, huh? He hadn't heard that name for a while - he couldn't remember the last time his grandmother had read him _The Hobbit._ It was a good book though. So fun and full of adventure.... Maybe Yoite would like it. Maybe he would like to hear something soft for once.

So Miharu leaned forward, craning his neck to look up at Yoite’s face. He opened his mouth to speak when he felt his heart drop.

Yoite wasn't moving. His eyes were glassy and unfocused and he didn't blink. It was only the slight rise and fall of the boys chest that convinced Miharu that Yoite was even still alive.

“Yoite?” he asked, voice quiet. He tried to ignore how strained and worried he sounded. “Yoite, are you all right?”

Yoite didn't respond.

“Yukimi-san,” Miharu said, raising his voice. “Yukimi-san.”

“Yeah, yeah, what?” Yukimi said and he rounded the corner with a dishtowel and plate in hand. “What d’you brats want?”

“Yukimi-san, Yoite isn't responding to my voice.”

“Huh? What’re you talking about?”

“He doesn’t look well, Yukimi-san.”

“He never looks well, Miharu-kun,” Yukimi said, barely keeping from rolling his eyes. He knew that Miharu was concerned, but Yoite had been unwell since the day Yukimi had first seen him. Small and frail, within a day his ki had all but ripped apart his cells and muscles, stretching him into a being little more than skin and bone.

“But something’s wrong,” Miharu said, and Yukimi didn't like the anxiety in the usually stoic boy’s voice.

“Okay, okay,” he said, laying the plate and dishtowel aside, “let me take a look. Oi, Yoite, you-”

The words died on his lips.

He was pale. Far too pale. And his breathing was definitely irregular.

“Yoite?” he asked and he reached forward to lay a hand on the boy’s forehead, ready to check for a fever. But Yoite pulled away with a whimper before Yumiki could touch him. He moaned softly, with all the strength of a newborn babe.

“What’s wrong, Yoite?” Miharu asked. “Are you okay?”

“Mi. . .Miharu. . .” Yoite raised his hand and blinked a few times. “Miharu. . .”

“I’m here, Yoite, I’m right here.”

“Miharu. . .”

“Yoite, I’m right here,” Miharu said, grabbing Yoite’s weakly flailing hand. He blinked in shock— for the first time in a while Yoite was allowing Miharu to touch him. Yoite held him tight, returning Miharu’s grip with all the strength he had. Judging by Yukimi’s look of shock, it was the first time in a long time that Yoite had let someone touch him. “It’s okay,” Miharu soothed. “What’s wrong?”

Yoite said nothing but twisted a bit, clutching hard to Miharu’s hand, holding it to chest, and curling loosely around it. Miharu had to keep from shuddering - Yoite’s fingers were so cold. . . He had never held a hand so frail and cold before. Yoite was so kind and gentle, it was strange his touch was so cold — it didn't suit him. Miharu squeezed Yoite’s hand and looked over at Yukimi with a deep frown.

“Yoite,” Yukimi said. “Hey, kid, you feeling okay?”

“Hmmm,” Yoite muttered.

“Hm? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Yukimi said, trying to keep from snapping at Yoite. “C’mon, kid, what’s wrong?”

Yoite frowned and his glassy eyes cleared for a moment. Miharu caught his breath - they shone bright and his grip on Miharu’s hand tightened painfully. Yoite snapped his eyes shut quickly, fighting back a whimper.

“H-Hurts. . .” he gurgled.

Yukimi and Miharu exchanged a wide-eyed look. The last time Yoite had said that something had hurt was when he had first arrived. . . This wasn’t looking good.

“Hurts?” Yukimi asked. “What hurts, Yoite?” Yoite whimpered and turned his head from Yukimi, letting it roll on his shoulder. “Yoite,” Yukimi said, and Miharu could hear the trace of concern hidden under the man’s annoyance. “Damnit, Yoite, you’ve got to tell me what hurts.”

“Hurts. . .”

“Yoite,” Miharu said, and he leaned forward, squeezing Yoite’s hand fiercely. “Yoite, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

“Mi. . .Miharu. . .”

“It’s all right,” Miharu said, ignoring the lump in his throat. “I’m here. Yukimi-san and I are here. We’re here. Would you tell us what’s wrong?”

“H-Hurts. . .”

“Damnit, brat, what hurts?!”

Yoite flinched at the tone, and, at the sudden motion, flinched and cried out. He ripped his hand from Miharu’s and wrapped his arms around his stomach, gasping. Miharu and Yukimi exchanged a worried glance. Their concern was growing rapidly.

“Yoite, does your stomach hurt?” Miharu asked.

After a moment, Yoite nodded.

“Figures,” Yukimi snorted. “It’s probably just all the food you ate for dinner. I keep telling you not to overeat, but you never listen. This is what you get.” He huffed in annoyance and got to his feet, leaving the room with dishtowel and plate in hand. “Getting me all worried over nothing. . . damn, I hate kids.”

Miharu watched Yoite, expecting him to maybe relax a little bit when Yukimi left the room, but he seemed to only become more visibly upset. Miharu fought every instinct that told him to grab Yoite’s hand and kiss his check — instincts that only came where Yoite was concerned. Miharu had never thought like this with anyone else — he usually couldn't be bothered to even care when someone was sick.

But with Yoite it was different. It made him ache and worry and swallowed up all of his attention. Yoite was all that mattered. And Yoite was in pain and Miharu wanted it to go away. He would do anything to make it go away.

“Yoite,” he said, voice gentle, and he caught Yoite’s eyes, which had half-opened. He tried to smile reassuringly, although he knew a smile didn't suit him well. His grandma smiled when he wasn't feeling good, so maybe that’s what people who cared did?

It probably looked stupid though, so Miharu dropped it almost instantly. But he had succeeded in catching Yoite’s attention.

“Hey, Yoite, do you want to lay down?” he asked. Yoite blinked, confused, and Miharu repeated the question. “Do you want to lay down on the couch?”

Yoite blinked a few more times, and Miharu saw his grip tighten around his abdomen, but he said nothing. He let Yoite have space and time. Finally, after a long minute, Yoite nodded.

“Okay, you can lay on the couch.” Miharu turned and raised his voice, yelling at the kitchen. “Yukimi-san, come and help us!”

There was disgruntled groan from the kitchen, a clanging of some dishes, and heavy footsteps before Yukimi stepped into the room. He looked at Miharu and Yoite, who hadn't moved from their places on the floor.

“What?” he asked.

“Yoite wants to lay down on the couch,” Miharu said, pointing at the yellow cushioned piece of furniture they were leaning against. Yukimi blinked, incredulous.

“The couch is right there!” he said.

“But, Yukimi-saaaannn,” Miharu drawled, turning his big green eyes on Yukimi’s face, “Yoite is heavy.”

“No, he’s not,” Yukimi mumbled, but he stepped forward anyway, gripping Yoite under the arms and hauling him up. “Little devil,” he said, throwing Miharu a look. The boy did nothing but smirk.

“Thank you, Yukimi-san!” he chirped. “You’re the best!”

“Shut up, brat.” He laid Yoite carefully down on the couch, helping the boy draw his legs up onto the cushions. Immediately Yoite curled up into a ball, avoiding eye contact. Yukimi noticed suddenly that he was shaking. It was a small movement and Yoite was trying hard to hide it, but Yukimi, living with the boy for so long, noticed immediately. Before he could say anything though, Miharu was speaking.

“Yoite must be really hurting,” he said, and his voice was sad. Yukimi blinked — the boy must be getting closer to Yoite each day if he noticed even the slightest cues of pain, sadness, or fear. He even noticed happiness sometimes, much to Yukimi’s surprise. He’d never seen Yoite happy before, but now there was Miharu; he brought smiles to Yoite’s face, faint and nearly invisible, but Yukimi saw them and he was grateful. No one had made Yoite smile before.

“Yoite,” Yukimi said and he knelt next to Miharu so that they were both at Yoite’s eye level, “Yoite, do you want some medicine?”

Yoite shook his head immediately.

“N-No. . .” he breathed. “No medicine. . .”

Yukimi frowned.

“Why—?” he began, but Miharu interrupted him.

“Do you think you’ll throw it up?” he asked. Yoite turned ashen blue eyes on Miharu’s face and bobbed his head slowly. Miharu nodded. “That’s what I thought. How about you just rest then? If it gets worse, then you can try some medicine. How’s that sound?” Yoite nodded. “Good.” Miharu turned to Yukimi. “Why don’t you get a couple of blankets?”

“A couple?”

“One for Yoite and one for me.”

“Ah, I see.” Yukimi turned and grabbed a two blankets from the cupboard — a heavy white kakebuton and a thin yellow one — and tossed them at Miharu. The blankets landed on Miharu with a heavy _hmph!_ Yukimi laughed as Miharu’s head popped out of the mess of blankets.

“There’s your blankets!” Yukimi said with a grin. “Two of them too — a couple.” He winked and Miharu turned pink. This got another laugh out of Yukimi, this one louder and far more amused. Miharu turned to Yoite, wondering if the other boy had been embarrassed as well, but he was just as white as before, eyes glazed over with pain. He hadn't seem to have heard.

“Yoite,” Miharu said, completely forgetting about Yukimi. He grabbed the kakebuton and draped it over Yoite’s skinny body, tucking the edges protectively around him. He laid a careful hand, ever so gentle with hesitation, on Yoite’s brow, frowning when warm waves of heat met his hand. He was surprised and mildly pleased that Yoite didn't pull away from his touch. “Yoite, let’s sleep now. Do you want to try that?”

Yoite nodded.

“All right.” Miharu grabbed his own blanket and laid down on the ground, curling up in his blanket. He kept his eyes on Yoite as he fell asleep, Yoite’s pale, pinched face the last thing he saw.

************************************


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, tiny fandom! I'm so happy to know people have been reading and enjoying this story! I haven't worked on this story in quite some time, but I was so excited to hear that you liked it that I wrote another chapter! I hope you enjoy this one as well!

***************

Miharu woke up to someone screaming.

He bolted up, drawing kunai from his pockets faster than a blink of the eye. His green eyes flicked around the dark room, searching for a threat, but there was nothing.

Nothing.

Then there was another scream, this one more strangled and immediately stifled, and Miharu turned to the couch next to him. His eyes went wide.

Yoite had curled up even tighter, making himself impossibly small, and one hand was holding onto his stomach as the other clapped over his mouth. His eyes were wide open, and Miharu’s heart flipped when he saw that tears, fat and salty, were falling in steady streams from the boy’s eyes.

“Yoite!” he cried, shoving his blankets away and kneeling next to Yoite on the floor. “Yoite! Are you okay? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Yoite didn't respond, only shaking his head and curling up tighter. He dug his fingers, dark at the fingertips, into his cheeks, stifling another cry of pain.

“Yoite!” Miharu said, curling his hands into impotent fists on the couch. “Yoite, what’s wrong?” When Yoite didn't respond, instead only shutting his eyes tight, Miharu felt his heart twist and fear bubble up from deep inside his gut. “Yoite, please, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“H-Hurts. . .”

“I know, I know,” Miharu said, and he noticed suddenly that his voice was shaking. “I know it hurts, Yoite. What do you need?”

“Yukimi. . .” the boy whispered, not moving his hand from his mouth. “Yu . . . Yukimi. . .”

Miharu shoved the jealous feeling that briefly consumed him away when Yoite asked for Yukimi; Yukimi was Yoite’s guardian after all, it was only natural that Yoite would want him.

“Yukimi-san!” Miharu yelled over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of Yoite. “Yukimi-san! Yukimi-san! Help!” Yoite screamed again, a little louder this time, and his hand flew from his mouth to clench around Miharu’s wrist. For someone so weak and in so much pain, his grip was surprisingly hard; it was tighter than a vice. Miharu tried not to wince, and he laid his free hand on top of Yoite’s hand.

“Yukimi-san!” he yelled again, raising his voice a pitch higher. “Help!” Yoite shook and convulsed weakly, his face twisting up. Miharu felt himself begin to panic. “HELP!”

With that, Yukimi slid into the room. Still in pajamas and socks, hair disheveled and t-shirt rumpled, he looked like he had just rolled out of bed, but his eyes were wide awake and in his hand was his gun, cocked and ready to fire. When he saw only Miharu and Yoite, neither in immediate danger, he rolled his eyes.

“Really?” he asked, exasperated. “What are you yelling for? What’s—?”

Yoite screamed. It was strangled and small, sounding more like a frightened kitten than a screaming boy, but Yukimi recognized the sound for what it was instantly. He ran to Miharu and Yoite, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get to them.

He dropped the gun — safety once again on — when he was at their sides, falling to his knees. He tried to ignore how fast his heart was racing.

Yoite looked awful — white, shaking, with flushed cheeks and big, terrified eyes. Most alarming, he was crying.

“Yoite,” Yukimi said, “Yoite, what’s wrong? Tell me what hurts.”

“H-Hurts. . .” Yoite gurgled, a few more tears sliding down his cheeks. “H-Hurts. . .”

“What hurts?”

“S-Stomach.”

“But where? Where exactly? Can you tell me that, Yoite?”

Yoite whimpered and his eyes roved around the room aimlessly, filled to the brim with pain. Yukimi looked over at Miharu, who was pale and terrified, clearly overwhelmed, but Yoite was holding onto him — touching him like he had never touched anyone before. Miharu was serving as an actor amidst all this pain, terrifying and unnerving. He was touching Miharu, clutching at him.

Yoite trusted Miharu.

He needed him.

“Yoite, can you tell Miharu?” Yukimi said and Miharu turned to him, eyes wide like a deer’s in headlights. Yukimi threw him a look and Miharu nodded. He took a deep breath and set his shoulders.

“Yoite, I’m here. You can tell me what hurts.”

“Mi. . .Mi . . . Miharu.”

“Focus, Yoite, it’s okay.” Miharu ran his fingers gently over Yoite’s bony knuckles. “It’s okay. Tell me what hurts.”

“H-Help. . .”

“I’m trying,” Miharu said, trying to keep the hint of desperation from his voice. “I’m trying, Yoite, but you have to tell me what hurts.”

Yoite blinked a few times at Miharu and then nodded slowly.

“Stomach. . .” he whispered.

“Your stomach hurts?”

“Hm.”

“Where? Can I see?”

Yoite stiffened.

“S-See?”

“Yeah,” Miharu nodded. “I’d like to see if you’d let me. I want to make sure there’s no bruises or lumps. Those are really bad.”

Yoite’s eyes, wide and scared, flicked to Yukimi. The man smiled wanly.

“It’s okay, Yoite,” he reassured. “Miharu just wants to take a look at your stomach. I’ll help if that would make you feel better. We can both take a look.”

Yoite was paler than ever, clearly despising even the thought of Miharu and Yukimi undressing him. He was scared, borderline terrified, and Yukimi bit his lip. Maybe it wouldn't be the best idea for Miharu and Yukimi alone to undress him. . . An idea popped into his mind.

“Hey, kid, how about I call Kazuho?” he said.

Yoite nodded slowly and Miharu turned to Yukimi with a frown.

“Kazuho?” he asked. “Who’s that?”

“My sister,” Yukimi answered, pulling out his cell phone. “She’s Yoite’s doctor.”

“Doctor? Yoite has a doctor?”

Yukimi frowned at Miharu as he held the phone up to his ear.

“Of course he does, brat. Have you seen this kid? He has so many health problems that I’m surprised my sister can even keep up.”

Yoite whimpered and Miharu turned back to him, running his fingers over the boy’s knuckles again. Yukimi listened to the phone ring a few times, biting his lip uneasily. He had a bad feeling about this one. Yoite got sick all the time, but he hardly ever made a sound, floating through the apartment like a ghost. But now it was taking all his effort to keep quiet, shivering and quivering and swallowing back moans and cries.

Finally, his sister up the phone.

“Nii-san?” she asked, voice thick with sleep. “What is it? It’s three in the morning.”

“It’s Yoite. Can you come over here?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure!” All the sleep disappeared instantly from Kazuho’s voice, and Yukimi heard her making a mess as she gathered her things. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Don’t know,” Yukimi said, eyes flicking to the trembling boy, who had stopped crying but was somehow even paler, “he’s not talking. Shakin’ like a leaf though.”

“Shaking? Like seizures?”

“What? No!” Yukimi pinched the bridge of his nose when Yoite flinched at the tone of his voice and Miharu glared at him. “Look, just. . . just get here soon, okay? I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”

There was a long silence on the line, and, just as Yukimi thought his sister had hung up on him, she spoke. Her voice was tight.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

****************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the family dynamic in Nabari so much - it's so important to me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! I would love reviews, but if you can't leave any that's all right too! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiiiii! I'm sorry for publishing so late - my inspiration was dead and I just couldn't get any ideas for this story going. But I have another chapter now - you can thank DSA(justmoreashittrash) for getting me off my lazy butt and getting started again! If you like Pandora Hearts, they have a really good story going and you should all read it! 
> 
> In this chapter, Kazuho appears!

****************************************

By the time Kazuho arrived, Yoite had somehow fallen into a restless sleep, tossing and turning on the couch. Miharu had not left his side, still holding the boy’s cold hand, even as his knees began to ache from kneeling so long. But what was slight pain in his knees compared to what Yoite was going through? Yoite couldn’t even sleep peacefully now. Miharu sighed and bowed his head, laying his brow against Yoite’s bony knuckles. Yoite whimpered and fidgeted, fingers twitching in Miharu’s hand.

“It’s okay, Yoite,” Miharu said, voice soft. “It’s okay, you’re all right. The doctor’s coming and she’s gonna make you better.”

Yoite stilled a bit and Miharu let out a relieved sigh.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, “you’re okay.”

From across the room, Yukimi watched them with careful eyes. Most of his focus was on Yoite — it always was — but he often caught himself looking at Miharu. The boy had somehow become a semi-permanent fixture at Yoite’s side as of late, a skinny, lanky thing with wary eyes and a strong protective streak.

Yukimi frowned. What was Miharu’s connection to Yoite? What did he mean to—?

There was a knock on the door and Yukimi had it open in a moment. Behind him, he heard Yoite groan in pain and Miharu whisper to him, but he was relieved to see his sister in the open doorway. She had done her hair up hastily, and it was clear she had all but thrown on clothes in the dark they were so mismatched, but her eyes were wide alert.

“Where is he?” she demanded without preamble, pushing past her brother to enter the apartment.

“On the couch. Been whining for a while.”

Kazuho stepped into the room and froze, observing her patient for a moment. Even from where she stood some feet away, Yoite was decidedly paler than usual, pale enough that she could see light blue veins pulsing under his skin. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and, most worriedly, his face was twisted up with pain. Kazuho bit her lip — Yoite wasn’t one for showing pain, he usually remained stoic and stiff even when he was suffering badly. He must be in agony to be showing this much pain outwardly.

Kazuho stepped into the living room, eyes alighting on Yoite’s pale face. His blue eyes were open but clouded and she fought back a wince. She hadn't even touched him yet and this was looking bad.

“K-Kazuho-sensei,” he stammered, voice cracking.

Miharu turned around quickly, black hair whipping across his face, but relaxed when he saw the doctor’s bag Kazuho was holding.

“You’re Yoite’s doctor, aren't you?”

“Yes, that’s right, Miharu-kun,” Kazuho said, forcing a reassuring smile on her face. “Would it be all right if you moved a bit so I could take a look at him?”

Much to her surprise, Yoite shook his head.

“N-No,” he stammered. “Miharu, s-stay.”

Kazuho stepped forward, leaning over the couch and catching Yoite’s cloudy blue eyes. She frowned.

“Yoite-kun,” she said, “I understand that you want Miharu here, but I need to examine you. He needs to move.”

Yoite shook his head weakly.

“M-Miharu. . .”

Kazuho sighed and looked at Miharu, who she noticed for the first time was holding Yoite’s hand tightly. He just glared at her, holding Yoite’s hand tighter. She got to her knees and smiled softly at Miharu.

“Miharu-kun,” she said, voice quiet, “I know you don’t want to leave Yoite’s side but I really need to take a look at him.” Miharu opened his mouth to speak but the doctor rode over him. “You want him to feel better, don’t you?”

Miharu looked down, avoiding her gaze, and nodded.

“Then how about this: you can sit on the arm of the couch by Yoite’s head so he can still see you. You can still be close to him and I can work. How does that sound?”

Miharu still didn't look up.

“Can I still hold his hand?” he asked, and his voice was so quiet that at first Kazuho thought she misheard him. But then she smiled.

“Of course you can!” she grinned, laying her hand on top of Miharu’s head. Miharu blushed furiously, turning bright red. He ducked away from her, settling himself on the arm of the couch by Yoite’s head, and gently took Yoite’s hand again. Yoite looked up at him, eyes tired and filled with tears and Miharu felt his heart clench. He squeezed the boy’s hand fiercely.

“It’s okay,” he reassured him. “It’s okay now, Yoite. The doctor is here and she’s going to make it all better.” He raised Yoite’s fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. “I promise.”

*******************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miharu loves Yoite very much and I think about it all the time.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love reviews!!! :)


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